


Sailing Toward the Dawn

by DragonsPhoenix



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsPhoenix/pseuds/DragonsPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During his hitchhiking days, Stephen realizes he isn't just running way. He's running to something, even if he doesn't know what it is yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sailing Toward the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at [Taming the Muse](http://tamingthemuse.livejournal.com/): dirigible

The clinic was small, only two rooms to see the patients who waited outside under the hot desert sun. The heat didn't seem to bother the Markabs though. The women chatted as if it were nothing and the children, those who were well enough, ran about playing games as all children did.

Dr. Stephen Franklin didn't handle the heat as well, even in the second and cooler of the clinic rooms. In between patients he didn't just wash his hands, he washed sweat off his face and neck as well. The Markab people didn't sweat themselves. If he didn't remove all visible signs he could get caught up for a good half-hour trying to explain that he wasn't ill himself. Even after a month not all the Markab trusted a human to treat them, but beggars couldn't be choosers. The clinic he volunteered in, exchanging his services for room and board, was in a poorer part of town. Here all but the most obstinate took what they could get.

His skin as dry as he could make it, Stephen called the next patient in. The girl, Zimba, came in accompanied by her mother. Stephen grinned at the both of them. This one, at least, would go well. Zimba, one of his first patients, had come in with a broken arm. Stephen had been monitoring it since then and was confident the cast could come off. He removed the plaster carefully but quickly and ran a scanner over the girl's arm. “Good as new.” He spoke that in English, accompanying it with a grin so the mother would understand that her daughter was fine. He squatted down until his head was at the same level as Zimba's. Speaking in the local dialect, what he meant to say was “Now don't you go jumping off of roofs again any time soon” although he knew it had come out closer to “High places, jumping off of, do not.” Zimba giggled at his words and even her mother looked relieved.

“Now, how about some shaklat?” That didn't need a translation. He could have just said the name of the Markab treat and been understood. Zimba jumped down off of the examination table and held out her hand. Stephen had, at first, allowed the children to pick their own treats out of the bowl, but they had a tendency to grab a handful and run off before he could stop them. Barely glancing down at the bowl of writhing worms he picked one out and placed it in Zimba's hand. She promptly bit of the head and sucked out the innards. The first time Stephen had seen it, he'd had to suppress a gag reflex. Three days had passed before he'd tried the treat himself. The shaklat were sweet on the inside, a bit too sweet for an adult's palate. He hadn't bothered to try a second but did keep them stocked. The children were well behaved but he enjoyed giving them a treat.

After Zimba and her mother had left, Stephen washed again but this time for dinner. He climbed up to the roof to find Dr. Lazarenn, as usual, there before him, grilling an assortment of meat and vegetables. When Stephen had first joined Lazarenn at the clinic, he'd had hundreds of questions. They'd talked for hours each night discussing Markab culture, medical techniques, lighting on anything and everything, but lately their evenings had taken a more relaxed tone. Sometimes they discussed cases but most nights they sat back, stared up at the sky, and relaxed.

An hour had passed before Lazarenn spoke. “Do you realize it's been thirty-two days since you arrived here?”

Stephen shrugged. “About that, sure.”

“Thirty-two is a significant number among my people. It represents a time of transition, a movement from one state to another.” Stephen wasn't sure how to respond to that. Lazarenn seemed to have something specific in mind. “You're not the same angry young man you were when you arrived.”

Stephen barked out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well, my Dad and I had fought just before I left Earth. I'd been toying with the idea of hitchhiking, of seeing the universe, but he thought it was a waste of my time and my talents. 'You're meant for greater things,' he told me. I think half the reason I got on that transport was because I was mad at him.”

“And you're no longer angry?”

After a long silence Stephen replied. “No, his words still ring in my ears some nights but I've done good here and I've learned so much. This journey, stepping out among the stars, seeing other worlds, this is where I want to be.”

“You'll be leaving soon.”

“I.” Stephen sat forward, staring straight ahead. He couldn't see Lazarenn behind him. “I suppose I will be.” He hadn't realized he was ready to move on until Lazarenn had spoken the words. He sat back and looked over at the other doctor. “That is, if you'll be able to handle the patients without me.”

Lazarenn waved his words away. “I managed before you came. I'll manage again. But there is one thing.”

“Yes?”

“There is a ritual, one of transition. I'd like to take you there before you go.”

“Sure, that sounds fine.”

“Wonderful.” Lazarenn stood. “I'll wake you at the Hour of the Rising of the Eastern Stars.”

Stephen looked at his watch. “But that's four hours from now,” he called out to Lazarenn.

The doctor's voice called back from the stairwell. “Yes, yes. Get some sleep before then.”

Stephen shook his head as he stood. Trust Lazarenn to throw this at him at the last minute. The man might be an alien but he had the most human knack for trickery that Stephen had seen in a long time.

It seemed as if he'd just close his eyes when Lazarenn's voice woke him. “Up, Stephen. It's time.”

Stephen sat up blinking. “You know this is crazy, right?”

“As is everything worth doing.”

Lazarenn handed over a white cloth. “What is this?”

“Your robe. It's traditional to wear white for the ritual.” Stephen noticed that Lazarenn's usual robe had been replaced by one of pure white.

The night air felt chilly but they walked briskly. After about twenty minutes, Stephen asked, “Couldn't we have driven?”

“It's traditional to walk.”

“I see. How much further is it?”

“We're about half-way there,” Lazarenn replied.

There turned out to be a platform, an upraised area that stood two stories above the ground. It had been described to Stephen as a ritual space. At the top of the stairs, carved into the mound itself, two Markab stood swinging censers of incense. As he walked through the smoke, Stephen remembered being an altar boy. The scent wasn't quite the same, but it was close. The platform was huge, large enough for crowds of hundreds, but Stephen could see, by the torchlight, only a few dozen Markab. They chanted as they walked, not in any sort of column but all headed to the same place. 

Stephen walked through the second cloud of incense to find four planks of wood stretching from the edge of the platform onto what looked like a cloud. The Markab were walking onto it as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. “Come along, Stephen.” Lazarenn walked across the plank and stepped onto the cloud.

Stephen put one foot onto the plank. It felt stable enough even if it did end in a cloud. He stepped forward and stood at the far edge, not quite willing to trust himself to stand on a large cloud even if more than two dozen Markab already were. He squatted down and put his hand onto the cloud. It fell through about two inches and then stopped, supported by some sort of field. “Come on, Stephen. It's perfectly safe.” Lazarenn jumped up and down twice.

Stephen stepped onto the cloud. “What is this?”

“Condensed gasses. Come along. We want a good position.”

Stephen followed toward the far end of the cloud, musing to himself. “Something like a dirigible.”

“What's that?” Lazarenn asked.

“A dirigible. An ancient Earth airship.”

“That's right.” Lazarenne slapped Stephen's back with a companionable air.

“Now what?”

“We sail into the dawn.”

“Sail?” Stephen glanced around in time to see the planks being pulled back. “Lazarenn, they've pulled the planks away.”

“Yes, of course.”

The cloud started to rise. Stephen grabbed onto Lazarenn. “What is this?”

“We start in darkness. The sun rises. We end in light.”

Stephen looked around. Most of the Markab were standing, looking forward, but there were a few children running about on the cloud. Many of the Markab were smiling as their eyes gazed on the distant horizon. Stephen let go of Lazarenn's arm. Still disconcerted by the clouds under his feet, he followed the example of his companions and looked toward the horizon. He watched the stars fade as light expanded up from the earth. This, this was why he'd started his journey.

With frustration and anger behind him and clouds below his feet, Stephen sailed toward the dawn.


End file.
